University of Virginia Library

War and Tumults.

“King of all Kings, and Governor of all things—save and deliver us, we humbly beseech Thee, from the hands of our enemies.” —Prayer Book.

Dead Empires, sepulchred in graves of Time,
Proud Hist'ry mantles with a pall sublime;
But, underneath that shroud repose
What buried crimes, and hidden woes!—

77

King of kings! and Lord of Lords,
By Thine Own omniscient words
Embruted minds instruct this royal Truth to know,—
Empires, as well as souls, to Thee their safety owe.
Wafted and winged by supernat'ral love
Soars the ascending heart of Prayer above,
And, entering through yon veilèd Shrine,
Visions within Thy Hands Divine
Church, and Country's mingled cause,
Freedom, Faith and holy Laws,
Thou Lover of all souls! in Whose true light men see,
A kingdom's master-stength is christian purity.
Those passion-roots of desolating War,
Which germinate in havoc, fierce and far,
What are they, but a brood of Sin,
Sprung from a bosom-hell within?—
Pride and envy, lust of power,
Form the fiends which thus devour
All principles of Peace a God Incarnate came
To purchase by His pangs, and hallow by His Name.
What is false “glory,”—save a guilt disguised,
A murd'rous cheat, magnificently prized,
When rifled home and ruin'd shrine
With all the curse of war combine,
And the shrieks of Womanhood
Heard in harrowing solitude,—
Throng round the gory track, where Armies fought, or fled,
And crushing war-steeds stamp'd their hoofs upon the dead.
Go, when the rush and roar of Fight are past
And pallid moonbeams on the slain are cast,
Go, muse around the mangled heap
Who there in welt'ring havoc sleep,—
Youth and Manhood, as they fell,
Far from home, and loved so well!—
And, while you heave a sigh o'er many a sunken brow,
Think what their spirits feel, whose flesh lies mould'ring, now!

78

Blest Teacher! who unteachest pride to Man,
In perfect harmony with God's own plan,
Mother of Saints! thy meekness bring,
When War and Faction round us ring
Yells of fierceness, which betray
Passions in their fiendish play,
Come, with thy gentleness, celestial as refined,
And let our struggle be,—who most shall love mankind!
Blest Jesu! in Thy Unity repose
All healing remedies for war, and woes:
Discord, and Strife, and reinless Will,
Calm'd by Thy chastening word, are still;
Halcyon-dreams of holy bliss,
Vile Ambition's hope dismiss,
And ploughshares into swords transformed by Grace will be,
When Heroes are the Saints, whose souls resemble Thee.
Yet, Lord of Hosts! if blood and battle come
And weapon'd Patriots fight for hearth and home,
While tented field, and bivouac,
The trumpet, steed, and victor-track,
Soldiers of the World delight
Who for crowns of conquest fight,
The prowess of the Church will prove, by ceaseless prayer,
As Joshua did of old,—true victory is, there!
Ah! who can tell how oft the Child of God
In saintly paths by tranquil Virtue trod,
While Earth's loud clarions falsely claim
A vict'ry in some earth-god's name,
Dreaming martial courage can
Be a Providence to Man,—
High o'er the heaven of faith by secret prayer hath soar'd,
And from Jehovah gained the blessing thus implored.
Thy Saints, oh Lord! true soldiers are,
Baptised for conflict, and ordained to war,—
But, that is fought the soul within,
Where grace subdues each hostile sin.—

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Teach them, Saviour! thus to be
Victors who contend for Thee,
And, vanquish by that Truth, which gains the World's release,
Whose perfect Hero is the Prince of Holy Peace.
 

Heb. vi. 19.